The Barber
by Didou27
Summary: When a man known as The Barber is hired to kill Red, the task force goes on field trip, but nothing goes as planned, Red is taken and Liz will do everything in her power to save him. [post S01 AU]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, please don't sue me :s

Takes place between season 1 and 2. Tom's missing or dead, I don't know yet.  
Lizzington of course.  
The rating will go up later.

Thanks Ripperblackstaff for your help! Love you!

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**Chapter 1**

"The man is known as _The Barber_," Red announced walking in the Post Office, perfectly at home.

"Reddington, thanks for joining us," Ressler greeted, irony deep in his voice. "Will you enlighten us on this new Blacklister?"

"Hello Donald! Nice to see you too!" he said joyfully. "He's crazy, really, even by my standards," Red smiled, sitting on a chair, his eyes on Liz. "Lizzie! How are you today? How's Tom? Oh yeah, sorry, you didn't find him yet," he said a lopsided smile on his lips.

"The Barber, Red," she cut his litany off.

She really didn't want to think about her husband, well former husband. She still didn't know where he was. She had been sure he was dead when she left the room after shooting him, but when the forensic team came to collect the bodies, he had disappeared leaving only a pool of blood behind him. She suspected he went to find Berlin.

"Yes, yes, you're right, as always. Focus on The Barber instead of a man who knows the layouts of this facility and your most intimates habits." Red said joyously. He was a pain in the ass when he was in this mood. "So… The Barber, really interesting man. Started his career as a waiter in Canada, then after many years of serving people, he changed the course of his life. He became a barber in a small town. That's when things went south. Nobody really knows what happen to him. His… partner died and he disappeared. A few years later, he reemerged in Bosnia, his skills with a razor blade for hiring, and I don't talk about a straight razor shave, even if his reputation in this matter is way under the truth," he explained, stroking absent-mindedly his cheek.

"And why him? Why now?" Ressler asked, eyes narrowed. Since Cooper was out for a while after his coma, Ressler was in charge of the team and seemed to take it at heart.

"Well Donald," Red started, his eyes never leaving Liz, "If you really want to know – and I'm sure you do – I'm his next target," he announced, shrugging.

"Wait! What?" Liz asked, her eyes burning holes in Red's. "How do you know he's been hired to kill you? And for how long did you know?"

"You know I haves the means to know any potential threats. As I said, there's always a price on my head – from both sides really – but I'm tired of this one," he smiled smugly, his head slightly tilted, eyes gleaming.

Liz closed her eyes at the explanation. He didn't even try to hide the fact he was using the FBI to clean his doorstep anymore. This man would be the death of her. But she had made a choice after the debacle of Berlin, and now she had to assume that choice, no matter what.

"We need more," Ressler cut in, breaking the link between Red and Liz.

"Of course Donald! Why don't you come for dinner tonight, Lizzie? I cook," Red said smiling playfully at Ressler.

The young agent shook his head at Reddington. He knew perfectly that when the man was in that mood, there was no way to make him change his mind.

"I can't…"

"Nonsense Lizzie!" Reddington cut her off. "You don't have any social life since Tom and I'm sure your Netflix queue can wait another day," he said adjusting his fedora on his head. "See you tonight," he added before leaving the room with his bodyguard.

"I'm gonna kill him, I swear I'm gonna kill him," Liz mumbled watching the Concierge of Crime walk out the Post Office.

"As annoying as the man is, we need him, Keen," Ressler said flatly before exiting the room, leaving Liz alone.

Liz closed her eyes and let her head bump on the desktop, sighing. Reddington was a pain in the ass, but Ressler was right, they needed him. After Berlin, she had made sure he was staying in D.C. to help them. She knew he had been about to leave when she caught him with Dembe in front of the safe-house he was using at the time, and she had asked him to stay. And he had, for her. She still didn't know why she was so important for him, but since he was the reason of the task force, she had to humor him. Even when he was his insufferable jerk self. And now she had to share dinner with him.

It wouldn't be the first time, of course, it was a habit of him, but even after many meals with the man, she still felt a little nervous about being on her own with the Concierge of Crime. It must be because of her training as FBI Agent or maybe his links with Sam and her youth. Sighing, Liz left the empty room and went to her office to start looking for their next target. Even if she wouldn't admit it, she was nervous for Red's safety. He was an important asset, without him, there would be no task force and she would be back behind a desk, profiling low ranking criminals for the rest of her life. She wasn't sure she could do it anymore.

And aside from being an asset, she was worrying for Red himself. They had learned to trust each other, to work together and to be honest they were pretty good at it. In a twisted way, Red was the heart of the team and by association, she felt important when he was with her. She couldn't define what her feelings were for Raymond Reddington, and it was scaring her.

When Tom had been around, she had resented Red's incursion in her life as an intrusion, but now, she felt flattered to be always the focus of his mind. She felt important, even loved sometimes when he looked at her like the treasure she knew she wasn't. She knew he was playing with her – that at least was obvious – but she couldn't help but feel her body react every time she spotted his fedora in a room.

She was screwed and she knew it. He had worked his glamour on her and she had fallen without even knowing it. They were like a planet and its moon always gravitating around each other but unable to touch. Elizabeth sighed again and started her computer, pushing Red from her mind, she had work to do and tonight would be a better time to worry about the strange game they were playing.

She spent hours going through old files and newspapers articles, looking for anything that may lead them to The Barber but in vain. Without Red, they were stuck and the bastard knew it. Turning off her computer, Liz exited her office and left the facility. She needed time to get ready for her dinner with Red. When she reached her car, she spotted an envelope on the driver seat. Unlocking the door, she shook her head and took the note. Of course it was Red, who else could have forced her car parked in one of the FBI blacksite without triggering the security?

'_Dembe will pick you up at 8 pm. Red.' _A smile spread on her lips at the theatrics he was using. He could have told her when they were in the conference room, but no, he had chosen to force her car and leave a note written in his smooth handwriting, in red ink. The man was a showman.

A smile on her lips, Liz settled behind the wheel of her silver Mercedes – courtesy of Red – and left work behind to get ready for the evening with a notorious criminal.

When she opened her apartment door, she knew something was odd. Someone had been here in her absence, she was sure of it. Gun in hand, she walked slowly in the lounge, ready to fire. She froze suddenly and lowered her hand, holstering her weapon, a smile on her lips. On the kitchen counter stood a lonely red rose in a small crystal vase she didn't remember buying. Against it another envelope waited for her.

She closed the distance and smelled the subtle fragrance of the flower before opening the envelope. _'No need to dress up, Lizzie. Red.'_ She laughed at that. Of course he had knew she would freak out about her outfit for the dinner. She never knew what to expect with him. Every time he set up an evening for them, they went to a different place, small diner with plastic tablecloth, five stars restaurant, the two of them at his place with take out, or a little feast for them and some guests cooked by a chef, she never knew what the evening would hold in store. And to be honest, she loved it.

Leaving the note on the counter, she took the rose and went to her room; it would be lovely on the window ledge. She then went to the bathroom and after a short shower, opened her dressing and started to go through her clothes to find the perfect casual outfit for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks Rippy, love you!

Thanks for the reviews!

I own nothing... please don't sue...

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At 8pm sharp, Dembe knocked at the door of her new apartment. After Tom's disappearance, she had sold the house and bought a smaller place. The house had been full of memories of happiness and deceptions; she couldn't stand to live there anymore. Of course Red had tried to influence her choice, booking appointments in her name to visit some grander places than she whished for or even could afford. When she had confronted him about his behaviors, he had said that she deserved to live in luxury and that if she wanted him to, he could help. She had been furious of course, shutting him out of her life for a week or so, until she found the right place to live in. She perfectly knew he had been watching over her shoulder the entire time, but couldn't do anything about it. The man was obsessed with her, and she couldn't start to understand why.

"Agent Keen," Dembe greeted when she finally opened the door.

She smiled at the bodyguard, knowing that he was subject at Red's changes of moods as much as her. She couldn't understand why such a man as Dembe could suffer to live with someone as Red for that long. But they seemed to go along smoothly.

"Where are we going?" she asked when the car took a direction she didn't recognized.

"New location."

"Oh."

For a year, Red had been navigating between five or six safe-houses more or less close to her house, always keeping an eye on her and close enough for her to seek refuge there in case she needed it. But since she had moved, he must have had to find others places to live in. After a ten minutes ride, Dembe pulled over in front of a building. She looked at the façade puzzled. It didn't look like somewhere Raymond Reddington could live. The front door was slightly ajar, the paint cracked and the door handle missing. A man with a dog at his feet was siting on the doorsteps, smoking.

She looked at Dembe, silently asking what they were doing here, but the man just took her arm and walked her to the door, nodding at the man when they walked by him. He pushed the door and led her inside. The hall wasn't much better than the outside. Dead plants stood in the corners, an old dirty carpet on the floor hid the cracked tiles and, on her left an old reception desk was crawling under yellowish mail and newspapers, covered in webs. She thought she saw some syringes long forgotten by the door.

Dembe led her to an old cracking and whining elevator and pushed silently the penthouse button. The cabin rose painfully for a moment before stopping abruptly creaming its imminent death in the confinement of the metal box. Her hand closed immediately around Dembe's forearm, fear in her eyes. The man smiled at her reaction and kicked the control panel three times before the cabin resumed its ascension.

"What the hell," Liz breathed.

"The best of security," Dembe said, smiling.

She shook her head and tried to relax for the rest of the ride. When the doors opened in what seemed to be an antechamber, with warm wood paneling walls and a cream plush carpet on the floor, her jaw gapped open. She saw Dembe take off his shoes and place them next to what must be Red's and followed the lead, taking her shoes off, her cheap footwear at odd with the gleaming leather of theirs. She spotted a row of fedoras on the wall before the door opened on a smiling Red.

"Lizzie! Thank God you're here! I was afraid the rice would be overcooked!" he said taking a step outside, his bare toes buried in the carpet. He was wearing black dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. There was no trace of a tie or vest and the two top buttons were open. He was extremely sexy, the thought run through Liz's head before she could stop it. "Please come in," Red smiled, spotting her sudden blush.

"It's… not your usual, I guess," she said, shaking her head at her lack of eloquence.

"Well everybody has to change their habits some times," he said, leading her through the door.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she felt Red's hand on her back directing her slowly to the left. She let her eyes take in the room she was crossing. Plush cream carpets on the floor, two enormous sofas as shade lighter stood in the middle of the room facing the fireplace were surrounded by small stands of dark wood covered in trinkets. Some paintings hung on the wall caught her eyes and she spotted at least a Picasso and a Chagall. She shook her head, the façade of the building might not be Red's usual, but the penthouse was up to the man's standards.

He led her to the kitchen and the faint smell of food she had spotted when he opened the door filled her nostrils and her stomach made an extremely un-lady-like growl. Red chuckled at the sound and motioned her to sit on a tall stool at the counter.

"Paella!"

"Pardon me?"

"We're having paella tonight" he said, his head tilted on the side, studying her reaction.

"It smells delicious," she smiled when he beamed at her.

"You're going to love it! It will be ready shortly, the rice has to absorb the water and we'll be calming that growling stomach of yours," he said smiling proudly.

"Will Dembe be joining us?" she asked, shaking her head at the explanation. She was an awful cook and he knew it, his explanations were all for the show.

"No, it will be the two of us alone tonight," he said his eyes on her, waiting for the panic he knew would show in her eyes.

Liz felt her insides knot at that. They would be alone for the evening. It wasn't unusual but since Tom's disappearance, Red seemed to plan those evenings more and more. She knew Red had an agenda – he had never hidden it – but she hadn't realized he had one about her also. She slapped herself mentally at that, of course he had an agenda, the man had an agenda for everything why not her. She shook her head and smiled ruefully, her life was such a mess since Red turned himself in.

"What's going on?" Red asked when he saw her sad eyes.

"Nothing, just thinking," she replied blinking rapidly.

"Sam?" he asked full of concern.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. It was easier to let him think her sadness came from the loss of her father than him and their relationship. Of course thinking about Sam saddened her and knowing that he was dead because of the man facing her didn't help but they had talked about it when she went to him after Berlin. She understood his motives now, but it didn't help to settle her anger. She had chosen to go to him, to make him stay despite his implication in Sam's death, despite everything he still hid from her. She had chosen to work with him even if it hurt, even if he made her feel things she didn't want to feel. She had chosen him.

Head lowered, she heard him move around the counter and stop behind her, his body heat bathing her back. She tensed when she felt his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns on her back. She felt him close the distance between them, is front flush against her back, his smell engulfing her, soothing her fears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed his nose buried in her dark curls.

"I know," she whispered back, her hand on his on her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand lightly before shrugging. He took the cue and stepped back, his hands slipping from her shoulders. She could have screamed at the loss of his heat but she still could feel his concerned eyes on her. She felt her stomach knot at the intensity of his stare, she knew he wanted to say something, to apologize again and again, but she didn't need it anymore.

"I think the rice is ready," she said when he didn't move.

"Yes, of course," he whispered before walking to the stove. "Would you prefer to eat here or in the dinner room?" he asked falsely joyful.

"Here would be perfect," she said smiling.

He smiled back and went to the cupboards to set the table. Liz's eyes followed his every movements, noting the way he moved, he seemed at home in a kitchen. A strange heat started to burn slowly in her gut, she wasn't used to such a domestic Red. He seemed… peaceful tonight. Even with a hit on his head, he seemed perfectly calm and it was innerving Liz badly. She couldn't understand what he was playing at. He wasn't the Red she was used to work with. Suddenly, it hit her like a brick wall; she wasn't with Red tonight. Tonight he had shed his mask; tonight she had a glimpse of Raymond, the man he had been before The Concierge of Crime. And it scared her.

He put a dish in front of her before pouring some white wine in her glass then took place next to her, smiling. Slowly he raised his glass and crooked an eyebrow, waiting for her to do the same.

"Picpoul de Pinet, 1998," he said clinking their glasses before taking a sip. "I brought back this wine the last time I was in France. I spent a few months in the south of France doing _La Route des Vins _and I found this little gem in a town called Pomérols. It was crazy really, the France just won the World Cup, everybody was in the streets, their faces painted in blue, white and red, very strange people," he said thoughtfully, a sad smile spread on his lips.

"What's with the sadness?" Liz asked, ignoring the comment about strange people and facial paint.

"Nothing," he said. "Try it with some lemon, you'll be surprised!" he added his mask once again in place.

Liz sighed and took the lemon wedge he was giving her. She squeezed it on top of her plate and took her fork. She let a soft moan out at her first bite. At the sound, Red beamed at her, smiling smugly. He seemed very proud of himself. He took another sip of his wine and started eating.

"How I am supposed to eat that?" she asked suddenly breaking the silence, glaring at a shrimp.

"My my Lizzie, don't tell me you never had shrimps before," he looked at her, surprised.

"They usually come without the shell on," she replied more angrily than she intended to.

"Oh my God, Lizzie, you're positively marvelous," he laughed, a smile cracking his face almost in two. "Let me show you." He pushed the remaining rice on the side of his plate and took fork and knife in hand. He cut off the head, then slid the tip of his knife under the shell and slowly made his way to the tail. With his fork he took the meat out of its shell and laid the perfectly peeled shrimp on his plate. "See? It's not that hard," he smiled.

Liz sighed and started to peel the _beast_. After one minute or two, she came out with a mushy pile of shrimp meat facing her accusingly.

"Don't you dare to laugh!" she warned when she saw the gleam in Red's eyes.

"I would never think about it," he said, fighting the laugh he felt rising in his chest. "Let me show you another way," he said after a few seconds of deep breathing. "It's a messier way, but easier."

He took another shrimp from the pan and tore off its head with his fingers. Eying Liz, he brought the shrimp to his lips and sucked noisily the juice stuck inside the shell. He then cut off the legs with his teeth, putting them on the side of his plate; he finished to peel the shrimp with his fingers.

Her eyes glued on Red's lips, Elizabeth felt heat rise on her cheeks, watching his lips and tongue work around the shrimp was too much for her imagination. If he could do this to a shrimp what would it be to have him work his mouth on her body?, she thought, turning a nice shade of crimson.

"Try it," he said suddenly, startling her out of her fantasy.

Her eyes focused on him and she realized he hadn't missed a second of her reaction to his demonstration. She felt heat rise again on her face and took the shrimp he was handing her. She could feel him staring at her while she peeled the crustacean with her teeth. He was right – of course he was – it was easier that way. She ate the shrimp before looking at him. His eyes were on her mouth, his head tilted to the side, his stare as intent as hers a few minutes ago.

He suddenly cleared his throat, breaking the tension of the room and raised to clear the table. Putting the dishes in the sink, he went to the fridge and took two bowls out.

"What's that?" Lizzie asked curiously.

"Dessert!" Red said putting one bowl before her.

She smiled and took the toothpick stuck in a perfect squared piece of watermelon and popped it in her mouth. They ate their dessert in companionable silence before heading to the lounge, their glass of wine in hand.

They sat on the couch facing the empty earth, sipping their drink silently. It was strange, they had been perfectly at ease while eating, even during the shrimp show, but now they could feel the atmosphere shifting.

Elizabeth cleared her throat after a few minutes, putting her glass on the coffee table.

"So… the Barber…" she began and Red sighed. She could see him slipping his mask in place, becoming Red again.

"I met him something like ten years ago. I was doing some business in Boston and our paths crossed at a party hosted by my dear friend Denny. You must meet Denny one day! You would positively be smitten by the man!" he beamed at her.

"Red please, focus," she sighed.

"Alright, alright, but I will organize a dinner with Denny! So the room was filled with lawyers and that man was there, sitting in a corner, observing the room. It struck me as odd so I went to him and began small talking. You know how good I am at small talking, don't you? Anyway, he told me his name was Pierre Beauchamp, it may be an alias but I doubt it. The man was broken, his partner had just been killed and he was here to sue the murderer. I guess it didn't go well, the next time I heard from him he was a blade to hire," he explained shaking his head.

"Why didn't you tell us if you knew his name from the beginning?" Liz asked angrily.

"Where would be the fun? If I had told you earlier you would be at the Post Office going through old files trying to find him. I rather see you here with me, sweetheart," he smiled, facing her, his head slightly tilted on the side. "You don't want to hear what happened next?" he asked when Liz got up, pulling her cellphone out of her jean back pocket.

"I have to give his name to Aram, you know it Red. I'm tired of your games," she spat, speed dialing her coworker.

She spotted Red going to the kitchen while talking with Aram and coming back the bottle of wine in his hand. He made a gesture toward her and she nodded, watching him fill her glass before filling his and taking a sip, obviously waiting for her to hang up with the Bureau. She thanked Aram before putting her phone back in her pocket.

"Ressler won't be happy," she said siting back next to him.

"Let him be angry, he's just the interim," Red said handing her the glass of wine.

"What's the rest of the story?" she asked shaking her head.

"He hit on me," Red said mater-of-fact.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes. The next time I met him, he had been hired to kill me and the guy just hit on me while his blade was on my throat. I told you he's really a nut job," Red explained, his fingers stroking lightly his neck.

"How did you escape?" Liz asked fearing the answer.

"I kissed him. I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and snogged him till he let his blade fall on the floor. I knocked him out and tied him up before leaving," he said, eyeing her to see her reaction. He wasn't disappointed. She looked at him, mouth agape, eyes wide open, she seemed frozen.

"You… You kissed him into oblivion?" Liz breathed her eyes fixed on Red's lips.

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but yes. I kissed him and distracted him just enough to free myself," he said waving his hand slightly embarrassed. "Stop looking at my lips, I won't kiss you into oblivion, sweetheart. Not until you ask me to anyway," he added in a raspy voice and inching closer to her, his thigh almost touching hers.

He turned his head and Liz hold her breath, her heart racing in her chest. He was so close that she could feel Red's breath grazing her lips, she couldn't help but closed her eyes and waited for him to close the gap between them. It had been so long since someone had her feeling that way.

"I think not," he whispered grazing her lips before pulling back.

She couldn't hold the groan leaving her throat when she felt the heat of his breath leaving her face.

"You son of a bitch" she mumbled opening her eyes and burning holes in Red's.

"Language Lizzie" he chuckled sipping his wine, a smug smile on his lips.

"Bastard," she breathed before drinking what was left in her glass and getting up. "Good night Red," she said walking angrily to the door. He had played her and won, as always.

"Good night Sweetheart," he said when the door closed on Liz.

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No shrimp has been injured during the writing of this chapter. The one in Red's mouth has actually quite enjoyed the experience.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm playing with the idea of Liz thinking that Red is her father here. But HE IS NOT HER FATHER AND NEVER WILL BE! This fic is 200% Lizzington.

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Dembe was waiting for her when she emerged from the building. She had chosen to take the stairs instead of the deadly elevator on her way out, it helped her to clear her mind. Red was a bastard, he loved to play with her, with her feelings, no matter how much it hurt her. He had showed his hand when he had killed Sam before his time, robbing her of the chance to see her father one last time. They were at peace about that particular event now, at least she thought they were, but when he acted like tonight she couldn't help but feel the anger rise, everything he had done since he turned himself in piled-up on her mind and enraged her.

Dembe was wise enough not to question her silence, he drove her back to her apartment and, after a 'good night' she left the car and went home. She poured a glass of wine, wincing at the first sip – it wasn't as good as Red's – and turned the TV on. She needed to think about his behaviors. She had had a glimpse of Raymond tonight and she couldn't shake the feeling she had felt rising in her chest at the realization. Her bigger problem now was that she didn't know if it had been Red or Raymond who had almost kissed her. He was so volatile, his mood swinging by the minute; he was driving her crazy.

And now she was worried about him. It wasn't the first time she had felt that way about Red. When he had disappeared after the Garrick's episode, she had been hell for her co-workers, searching every corner of the world to find him, to help him if she could. That's the time when gossip had really started at the office. Since the beginning, gossip had been following her – Why was he so interested with her? Why did he want to talk to her only? What was their relation? – but when he stepped out the box for her, to protect her, everything exploded at the Office. Whispers became talks then shouts and she couldn't do anything about it. She didn't have a clue about his motivations. She was as lost as everybody else. And the situation with Tom at the time didn't help either.

And there was the 'father' problem too. Of course she had asked him directly, just after his disappearance, when he had called her to settle her mind, she had asked him. And he had said no. But it still wasn't sufficient for her. She needed proofs. More than ever after the evening they just spent together. Liz felt bile rise in her throat, she was falling for a man that could be her father, or at least related to her. Was it why he didn't kiss her? He had always told her he wouldn't lie to her, unless it was for her protection, and being his daughter would be the most threatening information of all. She had to keep her heart safe until she had proofs of his honesty in this matter.

Liz left her empty glass of win on the coffee table, turned off the TV and went to bed. Tomorrow would be hell at work. With the name of their next Blacklister known, they probably would be ready to plan an intervention; she needed to be well rested.

OoO

"Thanks for joining us, Agent Keen," said Ressler when she stepped out of the elevator, cup of coffee in hand.  
"Not today Ress,"she said walking by the man to her office.

She was tired and angry. The night had been hell. She had spent hours tuning around in her bed and when she finally fell asleep, Red had been waiting for her in her dreams. In turn her lover or father. She had woken up frustrated and tired. She shed her jacket and bag on her desk and left the room to find Aram.

"Did you find something on this Pierre Beauchamp?" she asked sitting next to him, her coffee still in hand.  
"Actually, yes," the young man said smiling. "He's here. I've been able to track him from London to JFK. He stayed three days in New York and took a bus to Washington a week ago."  
"Do you know where he is now?" Liz asked. She couldn't believe it had been that fast.  
"He booked different rooms in town under different aliases. Every location is under surveillance, we should have some news soon," Aram explained.  
"How did you come to know his aliases?" Liz asked suspiciously.  
"Mr. Reddington called last night," he mumbled, adverting his eyes.

Liz shook her head, too bad for talking only to her.

"Thank you Aram, keep me posted," she said, squeezing lightly his shoulder before heading to her office.

OoO

"I'll come with you for this one," said Red joining the team in the parking lot of the Post Office.  
"No. The man has been hired to kill you, you are not coming with us," Liz replied, her unflinching eyes on Red's.

They had received a call from one of the teams in Arlington. They had spotted a man fitting The Barber's profile entering a motel a few minutes ago. They were in a hurry and didn't have time to argue with Red.

"You know you can't stop me, don't you?" Red asked, smirking.  
"What about your 'I'm a criminal, I can't run around with the FBI and keep my cover' speech?"  
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Sweetheart. I'm coming with or without your… blessing," said Red walking to his black Mercedes. "Are you coming?" he asked over his shoulder when Dembe opened the door for him.

Sighing, Liz sent an apologizing look to Ressler and walked to Red's car. She nodded at the bodyguard before sliding in next to Red. She knew it was the opportunity to squeeze more information about their target out of Red.

"What's going on?" Liz asked when Dembe started the car. "Why did you choose to come with us?" she added when Red didn't answer.

He was sitting next to her, his amber sunglasses on his nose, his fingers playing with the rim of his black fedora resting on his knees. He was wearing black dress pants, white shirt, black waistcoat and black and red stripped tie. She couldn't help finding him stunning in this outfit.

"I have a bad feeling about this one," he said after a minute of silence, his eyes fixed on the road.  
"Why? What's so unsettling about this one? You gave us names higher on the list and never asked to come with us," she said. She really didn't understand why he chose to come for this case in particular and it stressed her.  
"It's personal and I don't want anything to happen to you," he said looking finally at her. "I know the man, Lizzie. I need to be here for this one," he added, emphasizing on the 'need'.  
"Everything will be alright, Red. It's not our first gig," she said, reaching for his hand on his thigh and squeezing lightly.  
"Promise me to be prudent, Lizzie," he whispered so low that she almost missed it.

She didn't answer but fear collided in her gut. If Red was so distressed by that man, it didn't suggest anything as easy as they all thought.

The ten minutes ride from the Post Office had been too short, and instead of settling her mind, her discussion with Red had raised more anxiety. She was as tense as a bowstring when Dembe pulled over and parked the car at the entrance of the motel parking lot. She exited the car after squeezing on last time Red's hand and walked to the black SUVs where the Arlington's teams were waiting. Three more black cars parked behind her and Ressler and his team came out.

"What's going on?" Ressler asked.  
"We saw the man entering the room 26 an hour ago, sir," said one of the agents.  
"Do we know if there is another way out?" Liz asked, feeling Red's presence behind her.  
"No. No backdoor," said a man on the left.

Liz and Ressler turned to him. He was the perfect cliché of a motel manager. Short, greasy black hair, wearing grey sweatpants and a not-so-white undershirt. They winced at his appearance and nodded.

"Do we need to expect firearms?" Ressler asked Red.  
"Razor blade may be his favorite weapon, but he's very good with guns too," Red said looking past the car they were standing behind to the door they were targeting.

The motel was as every shabby motel in the US. A neon sign was blinking at the entrance and just behind they could see the open door of the manager office. The two-story motel itself was a few feet away, fifteen rooms on the ground floor and fifteen on the upper floor. The room they were targeting was on the upper floor. They knew the old metal staircase would be a problem. There was no way in earth they could climb those stairs discretely.

"How do we operate?" a man in full tactic suit asked.  
"He already knows we're here," Red said, pointing the moving curtain in the Barber's room.  
"Wonderful," Liz groaned.  
"Let's go then," Ressler said.

The team moved as one. Running past the car shielding them, they made it to the staircase guns in hand.

"Be careful," Red said, squeezing Liz's hand before she could make a move to follow the team.  
"I will," she said squeezing his hand in return and smiled at him.

He sighed when she ran from him, her gun in hand, clad in her bulletproof vest. He knew something was off. Why did the man stayed in his room while knowing the FBI was there?

"Let's go," he said taking the gun Dembe was handing to him.

The two of them started to climb the whining stairs at the exact moment the team kicked down the door of the room. It happened in a matter of seconds. Guns went off, people screamed and everything went suddenly silent. Red ran for the door and froze when he saw what was waiting for him in the room.

Three agents were on the floor, dead. Ressler was unconscious, blood running down his face. Two men were still standing, pointing their guns at their target. The man was standing, smiling, his gun pointed at Liz's head kneeling before him. Red felt his heart stop at the sight.

"Raymond Reddington, so nice to see you again my friend," the man said smugly.  
"Let her go, Pierre," Red said in a low tone. "She doesn't have anything to do with this. Let her go."  
"My my Raymond, so nice of you to protect FBI agents," Beauchamp said his smile widening. "I wouldn't believe it when the rumors started to spread a year ago. The great Red Reddington working with the FBI, no way, I told them. But it seems I was wrong," he said his hand fisting in Liz's hair.  
"Let. Her. Go," Red groaned murder in his voice.  
"Why?" the Barber asked. "Oh my God! It's her, isn't it? Your Lizzie," he laughed when Red didn't replied. "I think I'm gonna play with her some more before killing her. Do not move," he warned, untangling his fingers from Liz's hair, his gun still pointing the back of her head, he fished a razor from his pocket.

Red felt fear collide in his guts, sweat breaking at his brow. He couldn't let anything happen to Lizzie. He took a step forward but froze at the sight of the blood oozing from Liz's neck where the blade had cut the skin. The Barber smiled at the anguish written on Red's face.

"Don't" Red shouted stepping back. "What do you want?"  
"You know what I want. You know why I'm here," Pierre replied, still smiling, his blade grazing Liz's throat almost lovingly.

Red casted a look to Dembe and saw his friend shake his head. He knew it was a bad idea, a really bad one, but he had no other choice, he couldn't lose Lizzie. Not now, not ever. Slowly, he lowered his gun and gave it to Dembe. The bodyguard took it without a word.

"Alright Pierre. Let her go and I'll come with you," Red said his eyes never leaving Lizzie's.  
"Don't Red!" she almost begged, wriggling against the Barber grip.  
"Don't move, sweetheart," he said, his voice velvety. "Leave her alone." His voice harshening when his eyes left Lizzie's to meet Pierre's.  
"And what will your dear friend do when I'll let her go? Shoot me?" Pierre wasn't a fool. He perfectly knew that as soon as his blade would leave the FBI Agent's throat he was a dead man.  
"Nothing. Dembe, step back," Red ordered.  
"Raymond…"  
"No my friend."

Red's eyes finally stopped on Dembe and something seemed to pass between them and Dembe lowered his gun, nodding silently.

"See? He won't stop you," Red said, looking back at the Barber. "Now let her go before those agents come around."  
"What about them?" the Barber asked nodding at the FBI Agents still aiming at him.  
"Lower your guns and get out," Liz ordered suddenly, surprising everybody in the room.  
"But…" the Agent began.  
"Out!"

The four of them watched the Agents backed from the room, their gun never leaving their target. She felt the man holding her sigh when the men were out of sight.

"And how am I supposed to know that you won't shoot me a soon as I let her go?" Pierre asked suspiciously.  
"You have my word and it's enough for most of people in our line of work," Red replied.  
"I'm not most of people, Red. I think she's gonna come with us. Just as an… assurance," Beauchamp said a dark smile spread on his lips. "Up!" he barked, his blade just under Liz's chin, he forced her on her feet. "No funny games now," he said sliding his gun in the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back.  
"Keep her safe," Red whispered before tuning around at the Barber nod. He waited to see Dembe nod before walking out.

The moment he stepped out the room, Red saw the team still in the parking lot aiming their gun at them.

"Walk," the man barked using Liz as a shield, his blade still on her throat.

Liz complied. She had no other choices, she could feel blood tickling down her neck and knew that the man behind her was ready to slide her throat open at the mere movement.

"Put your guns down," Red ordered the FBI team still pointing at them.

He could see the men hesitating before Liz's voice backed up his order. They put their guns at their feet and watched the strange trio walk past them.

"The black SUV on the left," Beauchamp said, maneuvering Liz toward his car.

Trading his razor for his gun, the Barber let go of Liz's hair, his free hand fishing his car keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

"Cuff him to the back door," he ordered, grabbing Liz's handcuffs from her holster hanging at her hip. "You move and she's dead," he warned Red.

Red slid in the backseat and Liz bent forward to grab his right hand. He could feel her hand shacking when they touched. Looking up at her, he saw her teary eyes and felt his heart constrict at the sight.

"Lock your seatbelt," she pleaded and he complied.  
"Everything will be okay," he breathed, squeezing her hand lightly, when she cuffed him to the door handle.  
"How do you know?" she replied her stare never leaving his eyes.  
"I know," he whispered confidently.  
"Enough!" the Barber barked. "Step back now."

His gun still aimed at Liz's head, Pierre kicked the door closed, breaking the eye contact between Liz and Red. He fisted his hand in Liz's hair once again and dragged her to the driver door. From the corner of his eye, he could see Red's silhouette following their movements from the backseat.

"I'll find you and I'll make you pa…"

Liz never finished her threat, the gun collided suddenly with the side of her head and she fell, unconscious.

Dembe came running across the parking lot, the "NO!" Red had yelled when the Barber had knocked out Liz, still echoing in his ears. His gun aimed at the car, he shot once, twice, shattering the rear windshield before the car was out of range. He crouched down next to Liz, his eyes widening at the sight of blood pooling under her head.

"Agent Keen?" he called. "Elizabeth!"

She came around at that, her unfocused eyes fluttering open. She sat up with his help and looked around.

"Where is he?" she asked panic in her voice.  
"They left," Dembe replied sternly presenting a handkerchief nodding to her head. She took it and pressed it on the wound, wincing.  
"What happened?" Ressler voice behind them made them start and they turned around.  
"He took him. The Barber has Red," Liz said, closing her eyes at the hurt she felt spreading in her heart.

She had lost him. He had once again traded his life for hers.

* * *

Please let me know what you think about it :)


	4. Chapter 4

I didn't want to leave them apart for too long, but don't worry, we gonna come back on what happened during those two months later.  
Thank you so much for the reviews! They make my day!

* * *

_2 months later_

When she burst through the door in the dim lighted room, Liz froze. He was here. Sitting on plastic chair, his wrists tied around the legs, his head low, a beam of sun falling on him, the only source of light in the long warehouse. It's been two months. Two months without knowing where he was, if he was alive, in what shape. She let out a sob before running to him letting the SWAT team following her to secure the room. Her only focus was the lonely silhouette surrounded by a pool of blood.

"Red" she breathed, kneeling at his side, mindless of the blood soaking her pants. "Red?" she called again when he didn't stir. He was here, his head bowed; his white shirt ripped open, hanging from his shoulders, patched with blood. And he wasn't responding. Liz felt panic burn inside her guts. He couldn't be dead. He simply couldn't leave her alone. Her life was a mess, he had made her life a mess and now he just died on her? No way.

"Raymond!" she sobbed in his ear, her hand pushing back his head and her finger on his throat looking for a pulse. Here it was, the slow steady beat of his heart. She let out a breath she wasn't even aware of holding. He was unconscious but alive.

She pushed him against the back of the chair, his head rolling on his shoulders, his deep blue eyes closed. Liz took him in, from his bruised face to the long gash on his torso still oozing blood. She let a finger trail down his chest, brushing tenderly through the salt and pepper hair she found here, following the cut running down his stomach to his side. When her fingers grazed the soft skin of his side, she heard him take a deep breath.

"Lizzie," he breathed, trying to open his eyes and straightening his head.  
"I'm here, Red. You're safe now," she reassured him, her hand stroking lovingly his cheek. "Let me see what I can do before the medics take care of you," she whispered, her hands returning to his side.

She felt him tense when she pushed his shirttail aside to have a better look. Her fingers retraced the path they'd followed a few minutes earlier, feeling his skin tighten when her hand went around his side to settle on his lower back.

"Lizzie, please," he begged, but it was too late, she had felt what he wanted so desperately to hide. Even half conscious, he felt her tense, the hand previously spread on his thigh fisting the fabric of his slacks and the one on his back trailing the soft and ragged skin of his scars up to his shoulder.

She said nothing. She didn't even have to ask. She knew. She felt like she had known from the beginning, from the first time her eyes had locked with his in the Post Office. That was what linked them, that was the reason he had wanted her and nobody else to talk to. And he had lied to her. Even after his promise not to lie, he had assured her not once but twice that he wasn't her father. And she had the proofs of his treason under her fingers. She felt bile rise in her throat. She had fallen for the man. It was disgusting.

"Lizzie…" He made a move to hold her when she stood up and took a step back, but his restrained hands stopped his movement in a 'cling' braking the bubble of silence around them.

Immediately she heard 'clear' coming from every corners of the building and saw Ressler come to her, keys in his hand.

"Everything's clear, we're alone. How is he?" he said nodding at Red.  
"He's lost lots of blood but alive. He will be fine," she said coldly. "Un-cuff him and let the medics do their job," she added before walking away.

She could feel Ressler's eyes following her. Of course he couldn't understand what she just had discovered. She spent months looking for Reddington after their target had got to him. And now that he was here, safe, even if a little beaten, she just walked away. She needed fresh air, she needed time to think, to go through the feelings bursting into her.

Everything was his fault. If he hadn't chosen her to do his dirty job, she would have been safe, happy. She would have had everything she had ever hoped for. A husband, a child, and the job she had always wanted to do. But no, because the fucking Concierge of Crime had decided to turn himself in and ask for her as liaison, she had lost everything.

In the past year she had been all around the world with a notorious criminal, with the blessing of the FBI. She had discovered the treason of her husband. She had lost her only chance to have a child. Everything because Raymond Reddington had chosen to only talk to her. And now she knew why. And she felt betrayed by his lie.

"Liz?" She closed her eyes at Ressler's voice. "He's in the ambulance and wants to see you," he said when she didn't react.  
"I don't want to talk to him right now," she replied suddenly exhausted.

It's been two months without much sleep, nor food. Her every waking hours focused on retrieving Raymond Reddington from the razor blades of the Barber. From the man who let her live and took Red instead. She felt guilty now. He had sacrificed his life to spare hers and now she walked out on him.

But guilt was something Elizabeth Keen knew well. She felt guilty for letting Tom fool her, she felt guilty for not being here for Sam when he died, she felt guilty for Luli losing her life at the Post Office, she felt guilty for Meera's death and mostly she felt guilty for loosing Red when their operation went south and he traded his life for hers.

"Go home Keen, you look like hell," Ressler said, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You saved him, he won't go anywhere soon."

Liz nodded without voicing her doubts and walked to the car waiting to take her to her apartment.

"Agent Keen," Dembe greeted her, making her almost jump out of her skin.  
"What the hell are you doing here, and how did you know?" she asked looking around to see if anybody had noticed her unusual driver, but everybody was surrounding the ambulance, their back to her.  
"My mission didn't end with Raymond's disappearance. I'm glad you found him," he said his voice deep with relief.

Liz smiled at the bodyguard, knowing how deep his loyalty to Red ran, she should have known he wouldn't fail to his promise to protect her, even if his friend was dead. She felt a strange feeling knowing that Dembe had had her back all this time and she didn't even suspect it. Another layer of guilt came upon her when she realized she hadn't spared a thought for the man while looking for Red.

Without a word, Dembe started driving. The man seemed to sense when not to press. She knew he must have questions but as always, chose to keep silent, letting her alone with her thoughts. A light hand on her shoulder startled her, she must have fallen asleep on the ride, she summarized when she saw the apologetic look Dembe gave her when her eyes focused on the man.

"Where are we?" she asked, not recognizing her surroundings.  
"The hospital" Dembe replied avoiding her eyes.  
"I don't want to see him," Liz said her eyes hard on the bodyguard. How could have he assumed she wanted to talk to Red? "He lied to me."  
"He needs you more than you think, Agent Keen," Dembe breathed taking a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "And he never lied, I can assure you that."  
"You won't drive me home, will you?" she asked knowing the answer.  
"I won't indeed," he said an apologetic smile on his lips.  
"I don't know what he did for you to ensure your loyalty, but it must have been serious," she said exiting the car. There was no point in staying inside; the dark skinned man facing her wasn't going to change his mind.  
"It was."  
"Don't go too far, it won't be long," she said walking briskly toward the hospital entrance.  
"Don't let him close on you, Agent Keen. You both need truths on the open tonight," he said when she was about to enter the building and she froze. Turning around she only saw the man settling behind the steering wheel and drive away.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She needed truths and if Dembe thought it was a good time to have them, she was going to follow his lead and ask for them no matter Red's will. He had kept her life in the shadows for too long. She made her way through the hospital, her heart in her throat. She slowed her stride when she saw the cop sitting on a plastic chair – not so different from the one in the warehouse – in the hall.

She flashed him her badge and he nodded to her, letting her open the door without a word. She walked in the dim lighted room silently. Her breath hitched in her chest when she saw the man in the bed. He was sleeping, his face turned toward the window on the other side of the room. She took a step forward before her mind could register what she hadn't noticed when she found him a few hours ago. His hair was longer than it used to be and an unruly beard hid half of his face, the other half covered by bruises. He was thinner too. The months in captivity showing on him in the shadowy room broke her heart. She had done this to him. Because of her he was in this hospital room. The guilt came back to hit her with full force and she took a sharp breath bracing against the hurt in her chest.

"Lizzie" she guessed more than she heard her name in the ragged breath Red let out.

She took another step in the room and looked at the man in the bed. He was sleeping, his eyes moving behind the closed lids, his mouth set in a hard line mostly hidden by the dark blond hair on his cheeks. Leaving his face, her eyes traveled down his neck and his bare shoulders, and she realized he was bare chested underneath the white sheet secured around his torso, his bare arms resting at his side. She could see now what his undershirts had hidden from her the rare times she had seen him without shirt. On his upper left arm she could see the red scar of the bullet Tom had shot at him the last time they'd been in the same room and, just next to it stood the white burn scars she knew went down his back to his waist.

She must have made a noise because she saw his form stir and his head slowly turn to her side. Eventually his eyes came open and she couldn't avoid the discussion, she was trapped in this room with him. He didn't even have to put a finger on her, his cold stare in the shadows was all it took to freeze her on the spot.

"Lizzie," he rasped, his soft and melodious voice long gone with the cries burning his throat during those two months.

They stood still, their eyes locked, the silence thicker than blood.

"I shouldn't have come," she said, taking a step back.  
"Why?" he asked, grunting when he moved to sit against the headboard. "Because you're afraid of what you might learn? Because you afraid of your gentle little life shattering into pieces? Why Lizzie? Please do tell me."

His voice had lost the softness she had always heard in and was just harsh and cruel. Of course he knew how to hurt her, how to make her bleed like The Barber had made him bleed. She took another step back, watching another sardonic smile spread on Red's face. She couldn't stay. She didn't know the man facing her on this bed. He wasn't the man she had worked with for a year; he wasn't the man she went to to get answers or comfort when Tom deceived her. He wasn't that man anymore.

The deep voice of Dembe talking with the cop in the hall made her jump. Don't let him close on you, Agent Keen. You both need truths on the open tonight. He had warned her, he had known Reddington would push her, would hurt her to avoid telling the truths he wasn't ready to share. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Red's, she took a step forward, seeing his eyes go wide, she knew she had called his bluff. He had tried to intimidate her to push her to leave, to give him time to find another fable or simply disappear.

"I need answers. Now," she said firmly, closing the distance between them. She wasn't afraid anymore, deep inside her, she had always known he wouldn't physically hurt her and she was ready to shoulder every mental blow he would throw at her. "Are you my father?" she asked when he didn't move.  
"I already told you that no, I'm not your father, Lizzie," he replied annoyed.  
"Cut the crap Red, I felt your scars on your back when I checked on your injuries in the warehouse. I know."  
"You know nothing," he hissed. "You felt scars on my back and you jumped to conclusions no matter how many times I told you that I would never lie to you. I'm disappointed Lizzie, really. You should leave now," he spat, turning his head toward the window, dismissing her.  
"I don't know what's going on in your head, I don't know how you explain it to yourself, but I know the truth Red. Nobody would put their life in danger for a stranger no matter how obsessional one can be about them. It simply doesn't fit with your profile. What's the explanation you convinced yourself of so many years ago? That Raymond died in that fire and Red rose from the ashes? That you couldn't be my father because you weren't that man anymore? Answer me!" she barked, her voice rising with each word.  
"You want the truth? Fine, but don't come to cry on my shoulder aftermath. I told you, you weren't ready for that specific truth, you're still not," he said getting up, facing her clad in sleep pants and nothing else.

At the fire in his stare, she couldn't help but took a step back and watch the dark smile on Red's lips when he tilted his head on the side, studying her. Moving like a predator, he stepped forward, making her step backward, maneuvering her till her back was flush against the door, their body inches apart. He smiled then, that smug smile, that smirk she hated so much.

"Yes I was there that night," he said suddenly. "Actually, I was the one starting the fire, if you really want to know," he added and watched her close her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek. "But I didn't know you were here. You were supposed to be at your grand father's," he run his thumb down her face, drying the moisture he found there.  
"Why?" she breathed.  
"Because it was my mission. Because I was paid for," he replied shaking his head at the memory. He had received a name and a location, and he had obeyed like the perfect soldier he was at the time. And he had paid for it.  
"Who?" she asked, suddenly opening her eyes, searching the truth in his.  
"I can't tell you Lizzie. It's too dangerous, please never ask me that again," he almost begged, bowing his head, his hands on each side of her head leaning against the door.  
"So you're not my father then?" she asked shyly, choosing not to push him.

He barked a laugh at that, shaking his head, the corner of his mouth arching upward in a small sad smile.

"I'm not your father Lizzie," he said his fingers slowly tracing her collarbone. "I have only very un-fatherly thoughts about you," he breathed in her ear, his breath grazing her neck.  
"Who then?" She was shaking now and didn't know if it was from the fatigue, the revelations or his closeness.  
"I don't know. I knew him by an alias, they called him The Postman, that's all I knew," he said, looking her in the eyes, letting her read the truth in his eyes.  
"And the scars? And Sam?" she asked, running slowly her hand on his back. She wanted the whole truth and knew that if she didn't ask now, he would never tell her.  
"You weren't supposed to be there, he was supposed to be alone," he said, shaking his head. "I was leaving, the fire was meant to destroy the evidences. I was leaving when I heard you. You were crying, stuck in your room upstairs. I couldn't let you die. You were innocent; I simply couldn't let you die because of your father. I came back, kicked the door down and run up the stairs to your room. There was flames and smoke everywhere. When I found you, you were standing in your nightdress a little pink bunny clutched in your hand, surrounded by the fire. You stopped crying the moment you saw me. I didn't think, I took you in my arms and jumped by the window, there was no other way out, the fire was everywhere. I didn't even realize I had been burned till I knocked at Sam's door two hours later. He took you in – you were supposed to be dead with your father so nobody asked too many questions – and tended my injuries."

His voice died slowly and Liz realized she was still running her hand on his back. She dropped her hand and opened the eyes she didn't realize she had closed.

"Thank you," she breathed in a sad smile, nuzzling his jaw. "Thank you for telling me the truth."  
"Always," he said putting his forehead against hers, locking their eyes.

She smiled then, her hand running up his back again and burying her fingers in the short hair at the back of his head, she pulled him to her, kissing tenderly his lips. Definitively not her father, she thought when his hands closed around her face, tilting her head just so to deepen the kiss. Not her father at all.


End file.
